Following from a discussion on Twitter.
A milky grey of soot and sand,
winter-wind-whipped ’cross the land,
is shooting through the hutongs bare,
with chill, with spit, with spite.
For many months we’ve faced the gloom:
The dead tree-branches over-loom
the frozen streets where burning coal
provides the only light.
But Lo! What’s this that peeks from ’neath
the steering wheel, casts off its sheath
of winter, and presents a glimpse
of warmth, of life’s rebirth?
O cabbie’s leg, to thee I sing!
With trousers fresh rolled up for spring,
your coming heralds winter’s end,
and sunny warmth, and mirth!
The trees, restored, now filled with song!
The children gaily dance along
the lazy, willowed Houhai banks,
as innocent as lambs.
So take your robins and your flow’rs;
in winter I just count the hours
’til cracking skin gives way to sights
of cabbies’ pasty jambs.